


Smoke And Mirrors

by darkangel0410



Series: Scars and Souvenirs [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkangel0410/pseuds/darkangel0410
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one gets everything right in the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke And Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second one in my scars & Souvenirs 'verse. Enjoy.

At first, Patrick told Pete he didn't have to keep his collar on while they were performing.

 

As much as Patrick liked to see it on him -and he did like it; hell, he _loved_ it; that tangible evidence that Pete was his, that he belonged to Patrick, it affected him like nothing else could- he was acutely aware of the fact that not only was Pete not use to anyone being able to tell with just a glance that he was submissive, but that no one else had a clue that he was anything close to that.

 

Other bands, fans, hook ups, no had even an inkling that Pete was anything except what he had pretended to be for so long: a Dom.

 

But Pete had lost it when Patrick had brought it up; it had made him defensive and bitchy.

 

In fact, he got himself so worked up that he started yelling and screaming at Patrick, telling him that if he was that ashamed of him, then Patrick could just be done with him completely.

 

Watching Pete screaming and then start trashing the motel room they were at for the night, Patrick had reacted on instinct; he tackled Pete onto the mattress and kept him pinned there with his body until Pete calmed down enough to hear him when he started talking.

 

“Are you done?” Patrick asked once Pete had stopped cursing and yelling.

 

He pulled back just enough so that he could look Pete in the eyes while they were talking.

 

Pete nodded and took a shuddering breath.

 

Before Patrick could say anything else, there was a knock at the door.

 

“Is everything alright?” Andy asked, his voice muffled by the door. “Yeah, we heard Pete flipping shit,” Joe added, immediately followed by, “Ow, don't fucken hit me, Hurley, you've got pointy elbows, asshole.”

 

“Everything's fine,” Patrick answered, keeping his eyes on Pete's. His voice was pleasant but there was no mistaking the quiet power riding underneath it. “Give us a half hour?”

 

“Alright,” Andy agreed after a long pause; there was no doubt in Patrick's mind that if Andy thought Pete was in actual trouble and that Patrick wasn't able to help him, that Andy would break down the door in a heartbeat. “We'll be back in a little while.”

 

Patrick waited until their voices faded before he addressed Pete.

 

“Do you really think I'm ashamed of you?” He asked softly.

 

“Maybe,” Pete said, his voice just as quiet. He jerked his shoulder in an attempt at nonchalance that didn't fool Patrick for a second.

 

“You don't want me to wear my collar in public -what else am I suppose to think?”

 

Pete looked away from him, but Patrick saw the hurt in his eyes.

 

“Jesus, Pete,” Patrick sighed.

 

He let go of Pete's wrists and rested his weight on his elbow so he could run the fingers on his right hand over Pete's collar.

 

“There's nothing you could ever do that would make me ashamed to claim you as mine,” Patrick told him, his fingers leaving Pete's collar to grip Pete's chin and make Pete look back at him.

 

“I thought it would help you be more comfortable,” Patrick went on as he rubbed his thumb along Pete's jawline.

 

“You kept it quiet for so long, I thought you'd be more nervous about people seeing you like this,” Patrick tugged slightly at the collar and smiled briefly at the small shiver that Pete gave at the motion.

 

“Oh,” Pete said, subconsciously tilting his neck to the side.

 

Pete's body shifted for a second before he stilled; as obnoxious as he can be, Pete usually knows when to push Patrick's buttons and when to leave off. And now that his brain is quieting down, Pete could see he had gone completely ballistic for a few minutes.

 

“But if I did that no one would know I belong to you,” Pete told him, the words ending on a sigh when Patrick pressed a quick kiss to his pulse.

 

“Oh, yeah?” Patrick asked as he rested his forehead against Pete's. “And that would be bad?”

 

“Fuck, yeah, it would be,” Pete answered, opening his eyes and keeping them focused on his Dom. “Then all the scene kids would be trying to get in your pants.”

 

“Yeah?” Patrick repeated, amused. He pulled back enough so he could give Pete a quick kiss. “So? What does that matter? I wouldn't do anything.”

 

“No shit,” Pete scoffed, finally letting go of the tension that was making his body stiff. “It would still cause a fight; I'm possessive and jealous and have a really shitty temper. Trust me, the less property damage and assault charges that we end up paying for the better.”

 

Patrick laughed out right before moving to sit up on the bed. He offered his hand to Pete and pulled him up and moved them around until they were sitting next to each other on the side of the bed.

 

“You can't do this,” Patrick said and he made sure his tone voice let Pete know it was an order. “You're going to hurt yourself _or_ make yourself sick and I wouldn't be happy with either one of those. Understand?”

 

“Yeah,” Pete assured him softly and ducked his head down so he wasn't looking Patrick in the eye; as a general rule, outside of scenes, Patrick preferred Pete to make eye contact with him -it was the quickest and easiest way to check Pete's frame of mind at any given time.

 

So, when they were talking like this and Pete ducked his head, averted his eyes, Patrick knew that he meant what he was saying.

 

Patrick slipped his hand over the back of Pete's neck and squeezed comfortingly. “Next time you're upset or pissed, you need to tell me. Or, hell, write it down first if you can't vocalize it the way you want to. Talk to Joe or Andy if you need to. Almost anything except throwing a fit like this, OK?”

 

“I will,” Pete said, bending his neck down even further. “I just... I thought, maybe, that you were getting tired of dealing with my shit and you were gonna start getting rid of me a little bit at a time. And that hurt because you... I would do whatever you wanted me to, whenever, and if you didn't feel the same...”

 

He trailed off and shrugged, trying to play it off.

 

“Hey, I know you, Pete, inside and out,” Patrick murmured, using his grip on Pete's neck to tug him closer until Pete was leaning against his side.

 

“I know everything about you, Wentz, _everything_ ; the good and the bad, the masochistic side you can barely keep in check, the nightmares that keep you from sleeping most nights; the way you believe in words and music like it's your religion. How that belief kept you going when there was nothing else that could do it.

 

“How strong you are, even though you don't believe it, the strength that kept you sane even though you had to hide who you were everyday, all day, for years.

 

“I know all that, Pete -and a million other little things.

 

“And I can tell you, right now, that I won't be getting tired of you. Ever.”

 

Pete sighed contentedly and pressed even closer to him.

 

Patrick let him settle for a few more minutes before he straightened up and nudged Pete up as well.

 

“Clean this mess up, as best as you can, while I go take a shower,” Patrick told him, standing up and moving over to one of the bags that had escaped Pete's temper tantrum unscathed.

 

He rummaged around in it for a minute before he pulled out an old t-shirt and boxers. Pete kept his gaze fastened on Patrick and his eyes followed every moment as he walked back towards Pete, nodding when Patrick addressed him.

 

“When you're done, you can come join me,” Patrick went on; he smirked when he saw Pete twitch forward slightly before he held himself still again.

 

“That doesn't mean half ass it, either; I don't expect it to be perfect, but you did trash the place, so I don't think it would be fair to expect someone else to clean the whole thing up. Not to mention, Andy and Joe have to stay here, too, and having them step on something and hurt themselves is not something I want to deal with, either.”

 

“I won't half ass it,” Pete said firmly, looking up at Patrick through the fringe of bangs that fell over his forehead. “I promise.”

 

Patrick smiled at him and ran his fingers through Pete's hair for a minute before he pulled away. “I know it'll get done then.”

 

 

*

 

Later on, when Joe and Andy came back into the room and saw Patrick sprawled on one of the double beds with Pete curled up next to him, resting his head on Patrick's thigh while they watched some cartoon on the shitty TV, they both breathed sighs of relief; Pete's bitch fits were few and far in between but when he had them, it was hard to get him to calm down without someone getting hurt first.

 

Andy's sigh was silent; he met Patrick's eyes briefly, nodding slightly when Patrick grinned at him before he focused his attention back on the television and playing with Pete's hair.

 

Joe's was loud and as obnoxious as he could make it; he huffed out, “Fuck, Pete, I'm getting too old to listen to you whine, it's giving me heartburn,” as he threw himself onto the other bed dramatically.

 

Pete didn't bother answering out loud; he just flipped Joe off and pressed closer to Patrick.

 

Patrick smiled to himself; he could be happy doing this, everyday, for the next decade or so.

 

Yeah, he could definitely do this.   


End file.
